Radiance
by swiftasdeer
Summary: Her strength was always veiled, sometimes so well that even she could not see it.


**A/N: Futuristic, space-dwelling Beth Greene is a new favorite of mine. This is different from anything I've written before. Just a little one-shot I needed to get out.**

**Hopefully you enjoy it!**

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><p>Most so easily believe things they are told when they are young. No matter the absurdity or ridiculousness, they believe the things they are conditioned to believe; they are engrained in them, like scar tissue, faint reminders always present, even if it fades and they grow from it. They move on but it's there, it happened; it is a part of them and a foundation of how they become who they are.<p>

There is a legend she was told as a young girl: so long ago, further back than her mind can even imagine, there weren't any people. There was just space and emptiness, and all that it held was stars. They burned for as long as they could, but not for anyone to see, because there was no one around to appreciate their splendor. They burned because that's what they did. And eventually, as more and more stars burned out, leaving ashes to float throughout the cosmos, they melted and merged and morphed together. And a woman was born, from the ashes of dead stars, the first of her kind and the most radiant woman there would ever be. The stars admired her and she loved them, but the universe grew lonely over time, all infinite blackness with just her and her stars. So with her gentle hands, salted tears, and the burnt up remains drifting about, she created man.

She told herself she's not much a believer in those kinds of legends, but how she wished that one to be true. She sent out a transmission, recalling the story, wondering if anybody was out there. She hoped someone would confirm it.

Her strength was always veiled, sometimes so well that even she could not see it. Something so close, right under her nose, that it went unnoticed until she took a step back and evaluated herself. Not too critically, but honestly. The flaws, the perfections, the scar tissue. Her strength emerged suddenly yet slowly, like a flash of white light that consumed her. Warm and blinding, but a rebirth. She became the light. She is a burning star. And there are so many like her.

There's a long journey ahead and someone has to take it. She volunteers and it catches everyone off guard, even her sister. Especially her sister. And when the Commander accepts, she knows everyone is far too shocked in the moment to protest. But the objections come eventually.

She knows none of them expected her to be in this position. She was always handled with a certain fragility, like a crystal that may spontaneously shatter with simply a wrong look. They were blind to her strength for so long. And it was alright, because she revealed it to them in time. They touched her like her skin burned them and she was glad. She didn't think anyone would ever be able to take her heat, but she hadn't met him yet. Only his touch could handle what she gave off.

When he starts training her, she knows he is slightly reluctant. His words get lost under his breath and he's a bit harsh. So she pushes back when he shows her something she already knows. "I can take care of myself."

He yells, just sometimes, and when she asks for his help, he ignores it. She manages on her own, though. "You said you can take care of yourself. You did." She's realizes one day that he's scared. He's afraid he won't teach her well enough or long enough or just enough at all. He has felt like a letdown before, with others setting off on other excursions, people before her. And they were so much different from her, more obviously cut out for it.

"I'm not like you or them," she spits out one day, recklessly throwing her helmet. He doesn't flinch. "But you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're afraid."

Their relationship changes after that.

It was gradual, at first. Lingering looks and unnecessary touches, hands on forearms and elbows. Her lessons grew longer, bit by bit, the time stretched out until it took up nearly all of the day and night, but still not at all enough time. She learned so much, as was the point and reasoning behind the Commander pairing them together, but it was more than that eventually.

He tells her that while there are so many other stars out there, some are brighter than others; some are more pronounced, some are more well seen. And that doesn't mean that they are any better, but their light is cast amongst more darkness, and that is significant. That is important. Their light touches more shadows and it seeps into the blackness, brightening it from all sides and corners.

He draws her a picture, a series of dots that he claims were once very important to mankind. These dots together served as a map, a landmark of sorts for people to identify, so they could follow it. And within this map, this design of stars, there was one in particular that everyone, no matter their age or means, could point out. They followed it when they needed a guide home and when they looked up into the chasm of night sky, it was always there, easy to spot, an old friend. "The North Star."

She didn't grow because of him, but he enhanced her colors. He made her more vivid and whole, at one with her body and her significance.

"I wish I could just change," she had told him.

"You did." And she had, indefinitely.

There was never much room or time for earthly pleasures, but there wasn't much earthly about her to begin with; he was refreshing. That fire that encompassed her, it radiated when tangled with him, like jet fuel showered on contained flames. His mouth seared her skin and masked her imperfections. She was tossed into the infinity of galaxies so often and the grip of his hands on her hips continuously pulled her back. He was her gravity.

Their training concludes eventually. The time had flown and how she wished she could wind it back, start all over again. There'd be less arguing and more exchanges of stories and lessons, kisses and touches.

The trip doesn't scare her. She hugs her sister, her brother-in-law, even the Commander. But she says no goodbyes. It's just for a short while that she'll be away. Not much time at all.

"I don't cry anymore," she adamantly states, though the burning in her eyes tells otherwise. He doesn't say one way or another if he believes her.

They don't say goodbyes either. If she didn't know better, she'd think he didn't care in the slightest; but she does know better. There's the twitch of his fingers when he touches her sleeve and the rocking on his feet. She's tempted to smash her hand on the button, to lock them in this room for one last send off, but there's no time, not now. There will be plenty of that when she returns. When.

It's fine, at first. She's taken by the quiet and peacefulness of being in solidarity, just her and the universe, floating into the depths. But the feeling wears in time.

Some days, she sends out transmissions into the void, vague things that most people wouldn't think twice about: "Not many lightyears away." on Day 42 and "Soon, my friend." on Day 77. Sometimes she receives messages from others by accident; private notes not meant to be revealed to anyone, let alone her: "The emptiness I feel will only be filled once you've returned." That one isn't for her, she knows that much, but some days later (Day 81), she catches one that makes her wonder: "How soon is soon?"

Time is a concept. It's not something that can be grasped or measured precisely. It differs for every person; some days are long for some people and some days are short for others. Time can fly or time can drag; each person makes their own time. Some stars choose to burn for millenniums, some not nearly as long. "Soon is whenever you will it to be... But it is never soon enough."

She wonders if no one intercepts her message because she hears nothing back. There's silence for weeks and it spreads an ache deep inside her. Hopefully her words meant something to someone, hopefully she reached someone.

Once, she almost gives in and drifts into the blackness, forfeiting her purpose and the pursuit of returning. Maybe her strength was never hidden, maybe it was imagined. No childhood lesson or story had prepared her for this pain. It is a dark place. "I am a fading star," she thinks.

But how little she had burned, how short her time had been to glow and illuminate the never-ending blackness. And with that resolve, she fought past the heartache. "Places like this, you have to put it away." Her light dimmed but it never blew out. She held onto it with fingers and toes and all her might. She was strong and she was as radiant as any glowing ball of light in the universe.

There are as many Beths as there are stars in the sky. She resembles all kinds of people, and they her. But she's nothing special, she reminds herself; just another flicker in the darkness, dying out before her light reaches another soul. But at least she is. At least she reaches someone, sometime. Soon.

On Day 128, she returns.

He is there, her gravity; the reassuring weight holding her hands. He was dark himself, but she saw her fire mirror in him until it lit a spark of his own. They blazed strong, more fervently together than apart. He was beautiful; his shadows defined by the lines of his brightness. He was the mythical Earth, grounded and rough, but so full of life. Her tears created his oceans and she saw her light reflect in them. She was his sun, stretching around until she enveloped all his edges, his peaks and valleys.

And while he was the one that revolved around her, she served little purpose without him. What is the point in shining, in radiating without igniting someone else? And she set him ablaze, she reached him.


End file.
